“That will depend, Mr. Dewey,” was answered, “entirely upon how it stands. If you are falsely accused, and can demonstrate to me your innocence, I will defend you to the utmost of my ability, battling your accusers to the last. But if, on the contrary, you cannot show clean hands, I am not the one to undertake your case.” Dewey looked at Mr. Wallingford strangely. He scarcely comprehended him. “I may have committed mistakes; all men are liable to error,” he replied. “Mistake is one thing, Mr. Dewey, and may be explained; fraud is another thing, and cannot be explained to mean any thing else. What I want you to understand, distinctly, is this: If your connection with the Clinton Bank has been, from the beginning, just and honorable, however much it may now seem to be otherwise, I will undertake your case, and conduct it, I care not through how great difficulties, to a favorable issue. But if it has not been--and you know how it stands--do not commit your fate to me, for I will abandon you the moment I discover that you have been guilty of deliberate wrong to others.” The countenance of Mr. Dewey fell, and he seemed to shudder back into himself. For some time he was silent. “If there is a foregone conclusion in your mind, that settles the matter,” he said, at length, in a disappointed tone. “All I ask is clear evidence, Mr. Dewey. Foregone conclusions have nothing to do with the matter,” replied Mr. Wallingford, “If you know yourself to be innocent, you may trust yourself in my hands; if not, I counsel you to look beyond me to some other man.” “All men are liable to do wrong, Mr. Wallingford; and religion teaches that the door of repentance is open to every one.” “True, but the just punishment of wrong is always needed for a salutary repentance. The contrition that springs from fear of consequences, is not genuine repentance. If you have done wrong, you must take the penalty in some shape, and I am not the man knowingly to stay the just progression of either moral or civil law.” “Will you accept a retaining fee, even if not active in my case?” asked Mr. Dewey. “No,” was the emphatic answer. A dark, despairing shadow fell over the miserable man's face, and he turned himself away from the only being towards whom he had looked with any hope in this great extremity of his life. Mr. Wallingford retired with pity in his heart. The spectacle was one of the most painful he had ever witnessed. How was the mighty fallen!--the proud brought low! As he walked from the prison, the Psalmist's striking words passed through his mind--“I have seen the wicked in great power, and spreading himself like a green bay tree; yet he passed away, and lo, he was not.”